


4 Boys, 2 Couples, 1 Apartment, and A Fuckton of Ornaments

by PeroxidePrincess (thedisasternerd)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AMEN TO LOTR!!!, Attempt at Humor, Christmas, Fluff and Humor, Grumptrick, Innuendo, It's like the boys are from 2003 but are in 2010s, Joe and His Evilness, Joe being Joe, M/M, Minor Injuries, So..., Tales from 2003, Tolkien References, Van Days, because fuck you that's why, decorations, idk anymore, joe and patrick being teens and fighting, modern day? I don't think the references could've been made in 2003, or something like that, sorta crack?, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 12:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/PeroxidePrincess
Summary: Pretty much self explanatory but in addition: Pete attempts to kiss Patrick under some plastic mistletoe, Joe endorses the use of tinsel as a sex toy (shouldn't Pete be doing that? Andy and Patrick wonder), Patrick falls off a ladder the second year in a row, and Andy is left to be Mother Hurley (even if Joe insists on calling himself "daddy" - until The Wrath of Patrick Martin Stumph is upon him, that is).Featuring Tolkien references and Christmas Spirit - carrying Patrick into the living room still wrapped in his blanket and Pete being protective as Andy coos and Joe is a little shit.





	4 Boys, 2 Couples, 1 Apartment, and A Fuckton of Ornaments

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas.  
> BEcause.  
> I kinda had this idea of christmas in a shared apartment with the boys already in love, so, here we are!  
> beta'd by my wonderful new beta, Hi, I may be Satan :)

"CHIP THE GLASSES AND CRACK THE PLATES!" Joe hollers, carefully trashing last night's take-away while Andy supervises them from the corner.

Pete had disappeared when they had woken up, all that was known of his whereabouts was a note reading with a winky face drawn on in black glitter pen and a missing cardboard box from the forlorn, bare little fake Christmas tree in the corner that had by now shed all of its plastic needles. So, Joe was left to turn their shared apartment upside-down alone - until Andy put his foot down, heaving a foul-mouthed singer out of bed and telling him and Joe to clean up last night's mess.   


"Blunt the knives and bend the forks," Patrick mutters darkly, swaying and blinking owlishly with a sticky plastic cup in his hand.

"THAT'S WHAT ANDREW HURLEY HATES!" the guitarist cheers, snatching the cup out of Patrick's hand and patting him on the head condescendingly as the singer scowled and swatted him away. "SO carefully carefully, with the plates!"

With that, they're done, and Joe beams proudly.

"Can I go back to sleep now?" Patrick says petulantly, glaring up at them through long eyelashes "Or-"

"HOLA CHICOS!" Pete's voice yells, kicking off his shoes and shaking snow everywhere, meticulously straightened hair almost reverting back to its original, wild afro from the wind, as he lugs _the missing box_ behind him - it looks suspiciously heavy and bulky...

"I got..." he pauses dramatically, surveying their unimpressed faces before flinging apart the box's tattered flaps to reveal- "DECORATIONS, MOTHERFUCKERS!"

He promptly flips the whole thing over, and the amount of glitter could probably sustain a gay nclub for at least a year, and not to mention surpasses the amount of fake-tree they have by fucking _miles._ Patrick looks dubious and mildly terrified while Joe whoops in delight and winds a two-meter long piece of lamely moulting tinsel around himself. Andy narrows his eyes and picks up a rather battered looking santa hat, and, with perfect seriousness, puts it on - then asks, slowly:

"But who's going to put this shit up?"

Dead silence greets his words as everyone turns to Patrick, who purses his lips and his eyes glint coldly.

"You're like the _perfect_ height," Joe says, sugary and coaxing but turning out whiny and petulant- he even bats his eyelashes in a way that he thinks is seductive (but really only works for Andy) " _Please_ 'Tricky? I'll hold the ladder properly this time, _promise._ "

Patrick scoffs as he winces and subconsciously brings a hand to his shoulder.

"Are we gonna make some weird-ass ritual out of this?" he says slowly, sizing Joe up with icy eyes "Me falling off the ladder because Trohman gets fucking distracted? And also, Pete and Andy are like, _an inch_ taller than me. I'm not a fucking hobbit, I dunno, like, we're all fucking dwarves, but I prefer to think of it as being more...fun-sized."

"Fun-sized?" Joe questions, hiding a snicker from Patrick's murderous glare "Dude, we're all fucking hobbit, it's just I've been glorified," he poses heroically "By the Entmoot!"

"We shouldn't've watched those Tolkien re-runs." Andy sighs, fixing his hat.

There's a moment of silence as everyone contemplates the options. Pete, of course, is the one to break it.

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" he yells suddenly, tackling Patrick to the floor and mushing his face into the younger's shoulder and mock-sobbing "I MUST PROTECT!"

"No Pete," Patrick admonishes, trying to shake out whatever got tangled in his hair - plastic mistletoe, but no-one tells him that "You'll only fall off, knock Joe out, and the ladder will somehow crush me and Andy."

Pete beams dolefully.

"You underestimate me, 'Rick." Patrick glares at the nickname, but doesn't lash out because he's pinned under Pete and Jandy are laughing too hard to help "Look 'Tricky! There's mistletoe _right there..._ " he leans in for a wet kiss, but Patrick knees him, making the bassist yelp and relinquish his grip, and gets up, leaving the older man to wallow in his rejection and (understandable) self-pity...

Andy's voice floats out over Joe's wheezes and the sounds of Patrick choking Pete with a strand of neon pink tinsel.

"...if Joe is a hobbit, then what does that make us?" he muses.

Joe cackles even more.

"Patrick's definitely a Bulrog," he chokes out between hysterical giggles as Patrick stops choking his boyfriend and looks over in horror "With a bit of goblin."

The singer opens his mouth to protest, his eyes darkening, but he's so insulted that no sound comes out.

"...No, actually, Patrick's the Ring, Pete's gollum, but Andy's Gandalf."

"No, Andy's Yoda." Pete says gleefully as he rubs his neck and plucking the tinsel out of Patrick's limp hand "And Pattycakes here is _totally_ Galadriel. And I'm noble and strong and unquestionably Aragorn."

Patrick snaps his open mouth shut with an audible click as he recovers slightly, ears still burning red.

"Doesn't that make me Arwen?" he points out irritably "And Joe, dude, come on, you're an orc. Not just because you're ugly."

But the guitarist isn't listening.

"We should use tinsel as a sex-toy," he says firmly, picking up a piece of _black. And pink_ glittering plastic "Whatcha think, eh, Hurley?"

Andy pointedly ignore the statement as Patrick makes an alarmed noise and kicks a thoughtful looking Pete in the shin.

"Don't give him any ideas!" he squeaks, flapping his hands in fright "You son of a-"

* * *

The rest of Christmas Eve goes to plan.

Patrick is on the ladder, stretching to hook a piece of tinsel that keeps shedding pieces of plastic holly around the clock. His shirt has ridden up, rumpled, and reveals the small of his back. Pete is trying not to stare like a creep, but the book he's "reading" is upside-down and he keeps crossing and re-crossing his legs. Joe is humming under his breath, dancing around to the faint sounds of Christmas music issuing from the kitchen as he holds the ladder; it wobbles precariously, making Patrick screech (not unlike a pterodactyl).

Joe grins sheepishly as Andy pokes his head out of the kitchen, a mixture of concerned and annoyed, complete with fogged-up glasses to check that no-one's fallen of the ladder - _yet._

"I'm fine mom!" Patrick calls, yelping as the ladder tips again. Andy disappears back into the kitchen.

"Does that mean you have to call me daddy?" Joe asks innocently after a minute or so of Patrick's quiet grunts and Pete's saliva beginning to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Patrick flips him off with a disgusted noise.

Five minutes later, the prophecy is complete: Joe accidentally tips the ladder too far during a particularly ancient dance move, and Patrick slides down the rough metal as Joe instinctively lets go with a high-pitched shriek.

All is silent as the casualties are revealed: there's a long gash down the smaller teen's arm, starting from his palm and ending near his elbow.

"Dick dance move, Joseph," Patrick mutters darkly, inspecting the injury "Dick move."

Although it's not deep, blood is already welling up in hot, fat red beads, as Pete runs off to get tissues and Joe screams "ANDY!". Andy runs in (you can practically hear the ambulance sirens), brandishing bandages and alcohol wipes while Patrick drips blood onto Joe's almost new shirt.

"Pay for your sins, Joseph Mark fucking Trohman!" Pete can be heard wailing as he comes back in, trailing tissues  "PAAY for them! For I am your conscience-"

He cuts off abruptly as Patrick hisses loudly when the tissues come into contact with his arm, the singer eyeing the alcohol with even more distrust.

Andy gets to work, ignoring Patrick's growled threats and yelps.

"If you don't shut the fuck up," the drummer says sweetly "I'll leave out the antiseptic." he dangles the little tube in front of the singer "I will."

Patrick does what he's told, but his eyes tell a different story as he switches glare from guitarist to drummer.

Once they're done, Patrick shakes a bandaged fist at Joe and turns to Andy.

"Thanks mom," he chimes in dulcet tones, narrowing his eyes at the youngest member of the band over Andy's shoulder; Joe stops apologising to smirk at everyone.

Patrick knows what's going to happen.

"Don't say it."  
Joe cackles maniacally.

" _Don't. Say. It._ "

" _Call me daddy."_

"You're dead, Trohman. Fucking dig your own grave _motherfucker._ " Patrick snarls viciously, and Joe flees to the bathroom to lock himself in safety with a gloriously pissed Patrick Stump hot on his heels.

"PUNS!" Pete hollers, throwing the bloody tissues at Andy and running after them.

 If anyone asks, the red stain on the floor is paint.

* * *

 

 Christmas Day is even more traditional.

They wake up to a PeteWentzScream **™** of "WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKERS!" followed by a high-pitched squeal of rage - Patrick does _not_ appreciate being woken at six am, Christmas morning or no; the singer will only be benevolent about waking up when it's the crack of two pm (if they're lucky).

Joe runs out of his bedroom to start the melee in the living room. Pete follows, dragging in Patrick (who's running on about four hours of sleep and pretty much looking like it).

The guitarist may not celebrate Christmas, but he certainly gets presents, and is decidedly not chill about that. He's practically bouncing off the walls with Pete as Patrick escapes back into his bedroom. Andy emerges next, looking thoroughly peeved - complete with a bed-head and a lack of glasses.

Pete, meanwhile, runs after Patrick and comes out triumphantly carrying a squirming cocoon of blankets, the material trailing behind. The bassist gently sets Patrick down (the heap of blankets re-arranges itself - Patrick pokes his head out, glares at them, flips them off and curls up, going right the fuck back to sleep) and rushes off to grab his presents. He leans on the singer's blanket coddled frame as he inspects his gifts.

...and because he's Pete Wentz, he doesn't open them, just sets them aside and opts to cuddle with his boyfriend instead, noodling himself into the blankets and "falling asleep" in seconds.

Andy awws and hunts for the camera, taking a close up of the Sleeping Beauty(ies?) (Patrick's drooling onto the couch - already) and then a panorama - now including Joe schmoozing with the tinsel, ripped wrapping paper and already half-empty packet of sweets.

* * *

"I feel...froopy." Patrick complains, spread-eagled on the floor.

"I feel you." Joe says consolingly, sighing contentedly.

"Your mum's food is too _good._ " Pete moans, idly toying with Patrick's hair.

"Froopy," Patrick repeats, rubbing his freshly bandaged arm. His family had stopped by, ad his mum had clucked and tutted endlessly about it, and insisted on feeding everyone at least twice (they were now slightly... concerned about how many extras Mrs. Stumph has smuggled into Joe's willing plate).

"Blurpy." Pete adds.

"Bloopy."

"Flurp."

"Flurp?"

"Mnh." Pete gives in "I'm pretty sure that she also gave us thirds...well, fifths for Trohman over there."

Patrick just groans, tucking himself more safely under Pete's arm.

"I feel well-fed for once in my life." Joe says happily, patting his stomach "Decidedly froopy."

"Yeah but..." Pete starts dolefully "Christmas sex isn't gonna happen like this. We'll fall asleep. And we're not like, fat, lusty and vulgar men."

"Stop thinking about sex, Peter-Pan," Patrick yawns, smiling sleepily at Pete (amazing how a teen's attitude can change with a good meal) "It's Christmas, be reverent or something...And it's only three, stop being dramatic."

"That's my job, 'Trick." Pete whines, rolling over with a groan as he tangles their legs together and essentially suffocates Patrick in his cleanest Metallica t-shirt.

"And Pete- That is exactly what we are." Joe chirps from his armchair "Lusty vulgar men."

"You're not even a man," Pete protests "You're a fucking nineteen year-old."

"Let me remind you that you're fucking one."

"Who says I'm the one getting fucked?" Patrick says, his voice muffled by Pete's chest and a little too indignant.

Joe laughs.

"Twinky Twinky Little 'Trick-"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck _you._ " Pete states, petting the messy head on his chest "Because you are, 'Tricky. The majestic life of being a bottom, Patman."

Patrick grunts, lifting his head to glare at them all, ears turning red as Joe winks at him.

"You and Hurley should share...secrets." the guitarist chimes, gazing fondly at the sleeping drummer "Compare strategies, y'know?"

Patrick flushes and kicks Joe's foot in warning.

"The Life of a Bottom: Fall Out Boy's Patrick Stump makes a shocking statement."

"PETE!"

"That would be hot as fuck, 'Tricky-baby, you should do it..."

"PETER LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ III!"

**Author's Note:**

> At the start, this was unedited, and now it is!  
> Also, did laudanum_cafe , who I've pretty much worshipped, like this shit enough to comment? (my life's goal has been achieved: next up, fanatic_by_defenition , Goddess of Peterick).  
> This idea was encouraged by my wonderful beta, Hi, I may be Satan (she has ao3...I think it's her...?) so here it is!


End file.
